


Gifts

by obirain



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Other, kissing in a flower field, no real warnings. just happiness., so now it's here, this was meant to be a blurb and only posted to tumblr but it got too long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:02:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28704105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obirain/pseuds/obirain
Summary: In the last month and a half, you've gone and fallen for the younger of a mysterious pair staying in your village. Now, the day before they'll leave - forever, you presume - you try to show your appreciation as well as you can.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Gender-Neutral Reader, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Reader, Obi-Wan Kenobi/You
Kudos: 38





	Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> Request from Tumblr: first kiss(es) with Padawan!Obi-Wan :')

In late Winter just before the thaw, a ship touched down on a nearby hill and out walked two men clad in modest robes. 

There’s trouble in the city, you hear. Something political. Senatorial, maybe. But that’s not your concern. You’re only happy that the strangers decided to stay in your village in the meantime. And strange they are indeed—a little quiet, a little grave, but the younger’s around your age and not so grave _yet_ that he won’t blush if you teasingly tug on his cloak. And in the month and a half he’s stayed he’s stayed in your village, there have been plenty of occasions. 

And it’s not all that, of course. There are times when you’re able to sit quietly, to listen with rapt ears as he tells you of the galaxy beyond. His master, their travels, their Order—

and a life you can never participate in.

But you won’t let that get you down. What’s there to be sad about? You’re friends. New friends. _Almost_ even good friends. And you’re friendly, right? It’s friendly and _normal_ to lie awake thinking of the scent of their robes, wondering if it’s enough to keep them warm, to hold your breath when their hand brushes yours as you walk and talk down the street, to look first at each other when you tell a joke, just to see if they’ve laughed. 

They’re _normal_ and _friendly_ tears that well in your eyes the day the Master announces their departure. 

But you won’t let friends get away that easily.

The morning before he leaves, you sneak into his room. _Kenobi. Kenobi!_ He’s groggy, confused; it’s dark outside, and chilly. But you pull him out of bed by the hand to the outskirts of your village and beyond. He’s quiet as you walk—not _quite_ yet awake—and your heart races faster and faster in the silence. But the stars are fading away and fresh sunlight breaks in the East. A little lighter, a little warmer, a little gentler as Obi-Wan adjusts to the morning and as you find your mettle at last.

“Close your eyes,” you tell him. He hesitates, but smiles—and with his eyes closed you let yourself admire him just a moment longer. The straight of his nose, the dimple in his chin, the braid that falls from his ear to his shoulder to the plains of his chest, thin and interwoven with beads. 

It’d fit so nicely in the curve of your palm, you think, though you’d never dare ask. Not in a million years, and as it is you’ve only twenty four hours.

You pull him by the hand to the top of the hill and pause for a last, uninterrupted look at his face. _Open._

And before you both is the lake in the middle of the buttercup field still sparkling with the morning dew. The sun rises just beyond, mirrored on the water with the single willow tree. 

Again you pull his hand, running, backwards, down the slope. He laughs and you laugh with him; it echoes, the only sound of the early morning, along the hills. 

_“What’s this?”_ He grins, his smile brighter than the rising sun. The stars have melted away and left a likeness in his eyes. You sit beneath the willow and pull him down with you. 

_It’s your gift._

And you match his grin, surpass his laughter, try to light your eyes with stars of your own. But the morning wanes. Gentle pink gives way to broader daylight, and to the widening hole in your chest. 

“How are you so troubled, with such a gift as this?” 

“My gift to _you,_ if you’ll remember. And I would... give you so much more, were you... should you not leave so soon. You’ve really put a wrench in my hospitality.”

“We’ve been here weeks, already; I think we’ve stretched your hospitality to its limits,” he laughs. “And the kindness you’ve shown us is much more than we’d ever expect.”

“Is it really so austere? Jedihood?”

“Not at all. Our training is crucial.” Obi-Wan smiles; there’s a twinkle in his eye you can’t quite place as he lifts his hand. A stream of flowers and fallen petals circle around your face, settle in your hair. “For tasks such as these.”

You can feel the blood rushing to your face. You look away. And you shiver.

_You stifle it as soon as you feel it._ It’s cold, after all. Chilly morning air, the ground beneath you wet with dew. And maybe you’re underdressed. _It was nothing,_ you tell yourself. _It was normal._

New heat blankets your skin—not from bloodrush but from Obi-Wan’s cloak, now wrapped around your shoulders.

“It’s—it’s okay, Obi-Wan. You don’t—don’t have to—”

He takes your hand, holding it light as glass. Your words fail.

“Your heart’s racing,” he murmurs. “... I don’t mean to upset you.”

_“You’re not!_ I’m not—it’s _cold,_ is all. There’s nothing... Nothing else.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “If that’s true, by all means—tell me. I’ve felt—” His hold on your hand tightens. “I’ve felt _you._ And... and your thoughts. But if there’s nothing, tell me now, and I’ll leave in peace.”

Another shiver runs down your spine. You’re so pressed for air; it’s like your ribcage is collapsing on you. _He’s felt it. Felt you._ Felt... _what_ you feel? Or _how?_ Felt your thoughts—surely he feels all this _now,_ even as you sit. Might you just run away? No, no, that’s not right. Might you simply ask?

“Close your eyes,” he tells you. You hesitate; the beginning of a smile threatens to betray you. Not yet. Not yet. But you assent, and he squeezes your hand, and pulls it closer, cradling your wrist—

“May I?” he whispers.

“Yes,” you breathe, and you feel his lips against your hand. Feather-light, a sweep of the sparrow against finest crystal, the willow boughs dusting the ground. You feel his lips against your temple, your cheekbone, drifting lower to the corner of your mouth. It’s everything at once, yet not enough. The light without its warmth, the field without its color, the waves without their crash. And you don’t need the Force to feel his hesitation. Eyes still closed, you turn—kissing him deeply, kissing him truly. 

Obi-Wan responds immediately, dropping your hand and grabbing your waist—tentative, hesitant, but _there_ and close and _real._ In your own darkness you grip his arms for an anchor, moving to his shoulders, squeezing the tension away. He groans into your mouth and you into his. Your hand finds his braid, rolling the beads beneath your fingers. 

And you pull away and open your eyes. You have to see him to believe him, closer than he’s ever been. Closer than he’ll ever be again.

“You leave tomorrow,” you whisper breathlessly.

“I know.”

“Then what was that?”

He smiles sheepishly, his forehead dipping back to yours, kissing your cheek, kissing your jaw.

“A gift.”


End file.
